


Souvenirs

by elderprices



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angsty and Awful, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, There's nsfw in this but nothing actually happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderprices/pseuds/elderprices
Summary: What's Whizzer been up to these past two years? Marvin sure doesn't know.





	

Marvin sits, overzealous in dominance, in the chair across the room. The chair one, two, three, four steps "across" the room. He's sitting with his shirt off and his chest heaving dramatically, having made his first move and being satisfied with what little effort it required. Now he waits for Whizzer. Whizzer, who's sitting at the end of the bed caressing his perfect thigh, and licking his _perfect_ teeth, and kind of laughing under his breath in a _perfect_ mirror of himself two years prior. Both of them, sitting four steps apart, taunting as if out of reach, raising each other's thirst and whatever else they could raise before it got too unbearable.

Whizzer takes off his shirt now. Slowly. Button by button, to watch Marvin's face twist and to watch Marvin's eyes water and plead. Then it's off--thrown furiously to the floor--and Whizzer leans back onto his elbows in invitation. Marvin accepts in a frenzy, and--one, two, three, four--his mouth is against Whizzer's and his crotch is also against Whizzer's and they're panting as they pathetically dry hump for an ungodly amount of time. Whizzer moans into Marvin's neck. Marvin bites Whizzer's earlobe. Whizzer yelps and then he laughs and yelps again at another, harder bite.

Marvin's hands roam. They feel across Whizzer's chest. His thumbs brush Whizzer's nipples, then they pinch. The two of them share stupid, mischievous, horny glances. Marvin's mouth is on Whizzer's neck now, sucking to work up a hard, purple bruise. Something stirs in Whizzer. With that shit-eating grin still on his face--maybe a little less sincere than before--he pushes Marvin away.

"What?" Marvin laughs.

"No neck." Whizzer says.

Marvin rolls his eyes. But he complies. Because it's been two years and maybe things have changed and maybe Whizzer doesn't like being covered in hickeys anymore. (Marvin knows this can't be true because Whizzer's currently sporting three neat marks on his neck under pounds of makeup.) There's a moment the two take to ease back into the mood. But once they get there, Marvin's mouth is making its way down Whizzer's chest, and Whizzer's breath is getting slightly more frantic. He watches Marvin undo his belt, then unbutton his pants. Then Whizzer feels weird again, sort of dizzy, and his eyes dart to the ceiling and his breathing starts coming out in fragments. Marvin notices.

"Okay?" It comes with a laugh, but this time he sounds tentative and sincere. Whizzer pretends to snap out of some ecstasy-induced trance and his eyes dart down to meet Marvin's.

"Y-yeah." He sits up. He's thinking. He pulls down his pants in a hurry and tosses himself onto the bed. "Why don't we just screw already?"

"Oh." Marvin is slightly offended. He tries hard to make it apparent, but Whizzer doesn't seem to care. Some things don't fucking change, even after two years. Marvin is pulling down his pants, staring at Whizzer, who's staring up at the ceiling kind of dissociated, and he's increasingly becoming more and more _pissed_ at this pretty boy. He gets up and walks to the nightstand. He takes his time getting what he needs. He leaves out any kinky shit because it's been two years and God knows Whizzer wants nothing more than to _get this over with_. Marvin comes back. He kneels on the bed and takes Whizzer's legs and places them on either of his hips. He's massaging Whizzer's thighs--half, yes, because it's been _two goddamn years_ and he missed this feeling, but half in hopes that a certain nostalgic touch will snap him out of whatever stupor he's in. Nothing. His hand moves a little, to the sensitive spot on Whizzer's inner thighs. Something changes on Whizzer's face. Marvin seems relieved. He keeps his hand there a moment, though, because something feels different. Something's rough and raised and foreign on Whizzer's skin, and it's crudely mirrored on the other thigh. Marvin subtly glances to observe, and feels an immediate and overwhelming pang of jealousy at the seemingly millions of thick and deep scratch marks lining Whizzer's legs.

" _Christ_. You've been busy." He tries to laugh it off. He looks up. Whizzer isn't laughing. Whizzer is crying. Marvin's smile falters--he reaches out for Whizzer's hand, carefully and a little more sympathetically. He doesn't take it, but Marvin is getting upset and grabs his hand and pulls him close. Whizzer is shaking. He's turned away from Marvin and his face is buried in his free hand and he's sobbing, and Marvin catches a glance at his wrist and suddenly feels sick to his stomach. He didn't have those scars two years ago. Dozens of raised white lines. Older than the scratches on his legs, but of the same intention. Marvin puts his arms around Whizzer--he tenses and tries to get away, but Marvin begs him and now _he's_ starting to cry. Whizzer turns towards him. And he gets that he gets it and he cries even harder. And the two of them sit and sob and Whizzer finally buries himself in Marvin's arms because it's been _two goddamn fucking years_ and all he's done until now is screw and starve and stare at the ceiling. Marvin is still feeling sick but he whispers to Whizzer through his wetted lips and stuffy nose that "I'm here" and "It's okay" and other things he knows probably won't help.

And eventually they tire out, Whizzer falls asleep in Marvin's lap, Marvin smooths back Whizzer's hair and watches his breath return to normal. He feels awful. He feels awful because he still doesn't know anything.

It's been _two years_.


End file.
